


How to Succeed in Romance Without Really Trying

by link621



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/link621/pseuds/link621
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atobe has come down with the flu on the day that his long-time rival has returned from Germany and they have found a new focus for their never-ending competition - gift-giving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Succeed in Romance Without Really Trying

Some old adage insists that,  _faithful friends are the medicine of life_. The source of the supposed wisdom was lost to the ages, but somewhere in ancient Greece there had been a man who was unfamiliar with friendship, unfamiliar with illness, or just plain wrong.  
  
Or perhaps they had simply never been sent to the hospital – the  _hospital_  – for collapsing with fever in first period.  
   
I did not bother to contain my scowl when one of my teammates - one of my so-called "friends" - lingered behind after the gaggle of clucking fangirls had finally been herded out the door by an impatient nurse. The others, the  _smarter_  members of Hyoutei's tennis club I decided, had left in peace with well-wishes or even a delightful bouquet of flowers care of the ever-thoughtful Kabaji. At least Shishido pretended not to care if I lived or died - for my sake. I knew I would not be subjected to cooing and fussing from the one person that stayed behind, but I certainly was not going to get better any quicker in his presence.  
  
I had known that face for so long that I never stopped to appreciate his appearance, anymore. When we met, I was much too young to linger on such things as angular features and heavy-lidded eyes. I noticed things about him in general terms - his hair was black, for example, though if I had stopped to pay attention I might notice that it was so black that it shone blue under the hospital lighting. He was wearing his glasses; why he bothered to do so when it was just the both of us, I would never know. Despite my many attempts, the closest thing I got to a straight answer from him about why he wore them was that women were particularly attracted to men in glasses. At the time, I had refrained from questioning further only because his words were heavy with suspicions I would rather not confirm.  
  
"Atobe," he acknowledged softly, breathing out my name as he exhaled as though he could not stand to put in any actual effort in anything he did. It was just the way he always spoke, but he never failed to sound bored and distracted. Though the more I thought about it, I realized I had no proof that he was  _not_  always bored and distracted. The first time I heard him sing karaoke, I'd been lulled to sleep by his disinterested drawl.   
  
"Only you would draw such a crowd." He was right, of course - I could hear the clamor out in the hallway as the nurses fought to corral everyone into the waiting area rather than allowing them to cluster around my room worriedly. I had been promised that I would be released into the care of my family's private doctor within a few hours, and I hoped to any god I could name that they made good on that promise. If not, I was going to raise a fuss - as much fuss as one could raise with an awful upper respiratory infection, in any case.  
  
Mustering what energy I had left to be nasty, I grumbled back, "I've garnered  _your_  attention, so I must be doing something wrong." I ached everywhere, though the symptoms were becoming more tolerable with rest. A sense of vertigo whenever I moved my head left me feeling sluggish, though that could also be the cocktail of medications I'd been served when I made the mistake of appearing even mildly uncomfortable.  
  
Maybe Yuushi would swiftly put me out of my misery if I ruffled his feathers a bit more.  
  
With a damnable, easy chuckle, Yuushi murmured, "I guess I don't have to worry about your head. It seems to be just fine."   
  
I tried to kill him with my eye lasers, but they seemed to have lost their intensity when I fell ill. He only continued to chuckle as though I was tickling him.  
  
"Can I get you anything?" My classmate waved his hand in the air in a circular motion that had my stomach doing a complicated gymnastics floor routine. The room took a sudden lurch and my fingers wrapped up tightly in the blankets to keep from losing whatever it was I had eaten.  _Before first period_. I tried to focus on what I had done before class to keep myself centered. What  _had_  I eaten? Maybe nothing but medication and bile would come up, after all. It wasn't a particularly comforting thought. "Water? More blankets? A book?"  
  
I grunted a non-committal response, knowing full well what Yuushi would consider a “book” and that I was not at all interested in that sort of nonsense.  
  
“You aren’t nearly as gracious when you’re sick,” he pointed out nonchalantly.   
  
"I hate you." I fumbled with the scratchy general-issue hospital blankets, pulling them as high as they would go - incidentally, this was just to my chin which did not do me much good if I wished to curl up under them and hide my shame adequately. "I swear to god if you try to shove Sparks down my throat one more time, I'll..."  
  
"Puke on me?"  
  
I snorted indignantly, good grace completely forgotten for the time being. If I had the strength left within me, I might have closed my fingers around that delicate neck of his and squeezed the life out of him to save the rest of the world the trouble.   
  
"How bad is it?"  
   
When I closed my eyes, I still saw red from the ceiling light bearing down on me, but it was better than acknowledging his hand settling lightly over mine on the bed. My right hand was one of the few places that did not ache with fever. Yuushi's hand was warm without feeling wet and meaty like male hands often did; it was a familiar comfort apart from the unnerving beeping from various machines around us and the sound of doctors and nurses rushing about in the hallways beyond the door. At least the fanclub had finally given up and gone home, though I could still hear Mukahi and Jirou blathering on exuberantly about god-only-knows-what.   
  
“I’ve had a worse case of the flu… but I was a child, then.” And I felt like a child in that moment, too.  
  
With a thoughtful hum deep in his throat, Yuushi said softly, "You sound like you're speaking through a kazoo." My eyes flew open furiously, but he had leaned close to touch his lips fleetingly to my forehead. In my drugged state I was quick to gladly forgive anything, thankful for the gentle touch. "I think you'll pull through, if you don't die of embarrassment first."  
  
"I can't smell anything," I complained deliriously, feeling all of five years old. I was tired, my head was still ringing even after everything the doctors had done, and my almost-friend of too many years was telling me that I sounded like a kazoo.  
  
"It's Egoiste Platinum," responded Yuushi, amusement playing on his lips. I narrowed my eyes at him dangerously - he knew damn well I did not give two fucks about the name of his cologne; and I thought that scent was atrocious, anyway - I  _told_  him that in the department store when he picked it up and considered actually purchasing it. It made him smell quite a lot like a Christmas ham which was surprisingly close to what I thought of him, but quite distant from the reaction he was trying for. Quietly, ignorant to or simply ignoring my annoyance, he repeated, "You'll live."  
  
  
  
By the tenth hour since my utter embarrassment, I was beginning to doubt Yuushi. Once I had been taken home, I was strictly instructed to go to bed and  _stay there_  so that I could recover properly. The medication had long-since worn off, but I just let the symptoms come, trying to distract myself from boredom with misery. All I really managed to do was sweep away the cobwebs that had formed in my mind from the drugs and relive the entire thing with horrible, accurate clarity.   
  
Tezuka was back in Japan for the second half of the school year and would be arriving just before the holiday season. He did not celebrate Christmas, himself (I doubted he really had a firm grasp on the concept of the holiday even after living abroad for three years), but his family was surely going to celebrate the New Year together and most of the other players on the professional circuit wanted to be home with their families for Christmas as well.   
  
I was not aware that he was going to be at Hyoutei to speak to the tennis club about the professional circuit until he was already  _there_ , and it was to be my downfall when he showed up at all when my head was already spinning from fever. Three years had worked wonders for him - he had filled out nicely in all the right places, any trace of boyishness that was present in many of our peers was completely gone. He had always been a handsome boy, but this was different.  
  
I groaned and turned on my side, staring out across the empty side of the bed beside me. The bed was much too large when it was occupied by only one person. Though, honestly, I had never seen anyone else in the bed but friends that had stayed the night and insisted that we share a bed; Jirou, for one, refused to sleep anywhere else in the house despite being able to sleep anywhere, anytime, practically on command. I had a reputation for a great many things; the latest whisperings did include some speculation on my sexual talents as well as my physical endowment, but at least for the former, I had no real experience to prove or refute any of their claims.   
   
For me, sex with a woman was nothing to take casually - not with the company and fortune I stood to inherit. I could be too easily used for my money, if I did not step cautiously. I had attempted to explain this to Jirou, once, and he accused me of being a cynic. From that day forward, I simply told curious friends that it was none of their business. To appeal to his sense of romance (and to get him off my back), I told Yuushi that the "right one" had not yet come along.  
  
The right one  _had_ , however, and was  _in Tokyo_  for the first time since the National tournament. I had no delusions – I knew that what may have looked like a rivalry (or, admittedly, an obsession) to the casual observer had always been something more for me. I also knew it had always been me, not Tezuka, taking the extra steps to ensure that we stayed in contact long after our petty junior high rivalry ended.  
  
My phone jumped to life near my head, vibrating and ringing too loudly for my condition - I answered only to make it  _stop_  with no regard to who might be calling me at this hour. "It's me," I snapped, lifting my free hand to my temples to try to rub away the pain.   
  
"Atobe." Much like in the hospital, my name dropped from his lips as nothing more than an acknowledgment, but this time it was not Yuushi who spoke. "I stopped by the hospital, but they had discharged you." I was quite familiar with the low voice from several years of phone calls where we both made small talk - sometimes in Japanese, others in German - about tennis, about school, about Germany, but rarely about anything that might get too personal for either of us. This call in particular was stepping over the invisible line we had drawn some time ago. My heart seemed to beat in my head which was just as unpleasant as the lingering ache of the fever.  
  
Casually as I could manage, I replied, "Tezuka." I shifted so I was sitting up, owing him at least that courtesy even over the phone. With a smug smile tugging on my lips, I asked, "Were you concerned?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
I had not been prepared for the bluntness of his response. It had been too long; I forgot what it was like when someone did not take my bait.   
  
"Oh," I muttered intelligently.  
  
We sat in awkward silence for what felt like a couple of seconds but I knew it had to be much longer than that from the way he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry to call you at such a late hour. I have not adjusted to the time." I glanced at the clock - it was on the verge of three in the morning - and shook my head dismissively. I instantly regretted the motion, gritting my teeth and trying to stop the room from bobbling.   
  
I could not help speaking through my teeth as I said, "It's quite alright - I was awake." Mechanically, I added, "Thank you for your concern." As much as it was the last person I wished to think about in that particular moment, I could almost hear Yuushi's voice in my head making that knowing remark about the glasses fetish and smiling that smile that said that he was in on the secret and was one measly breath away from letting the cat out of the bag. Just to shut up the voice in my head, I said conversationally, "It's Christmas Eve on Friday."   
  
"Hm," Tezuka responded softly, thoughtfully. Oftentimes he would leave his input at that, as though he had already spoken his mind. I was not prepared for him to continue. "I was planning to stop by to see you Friday - but I do not wish to impose upon your family traditions."  
  
My words slipped into one another as I stumbled to say, "Not at all. Friday is fine."   
  
Then, almost smugly, Tezuka spoke the words that would haunt me for days to come: "I have a gift."  
  
I immediately forgot the way the simple sound of his voice made something wiggle in my stomach nervously. “Incidentally, as do I,” I said in reply, mustering the confidence I suddenly did not possess. Even if it was not about tennis anymore, even if it was something simple as a gift exchange for the holidays, I had to find a way to out-do him.  
  
  
  
Out-giving of a gift turned out to be actually quite difficult to do when I had no idea what the other gift  _was_ , exactly. It certainly was not a point in my favor that upon my return to school on Wednesday morning, the entire school went wild with concern and constant well-wishes, gifts, and girls still vying for the place of my date for Christmas night. I had no intention of going out that night, we had a traditional family dinner, but even making casual mention of that fact would never deter the most dedicated of followers. A second count against me was that I had been forced to take medication, again, to sleep and the label said nothing about how I would be loopier than a pot head until lunch the following day.  
   
Nothing was coming to mind.  
  
Mukahi was staring at me like I had knocked the brain out of my head when I fell. "What's the big deal, Atobe? So you want to get a gift for some girl, or something -"  
  
"Some  _guy_ ," corrected Yuushi, hiding his smile behind his glass.  
  
"Whatever, Yuushi," Shishido interjected, waving a hand. He was of the same opinion as Mukahi, though he had believed me to be devoid of any sort of brain before I went on flu medication. "What's so important about it, anyway? You always give the best gifts." Last year for Christmas, Shishido had received a pair of designer jeans that were washed and cut to look like he had worn them for years and they were falling apart. Not my style, but my friend had not shut up about how cool they were until he was overwhelmed by the excitement of Jirou opening  _his_  gift from me.  
  
As if to agree with Shishido, Jirou chose that moment to snore loudly.  
  
Mukahi sneered and covered Jirou's mouth with one hand saying, "No wonder he's so skinny, he always just sleeps through lunch."  
  
"Hold his nose shut - that'll wake him up," suggested Shishido around a bite of rice, chewing obnoxiously with his mouth open.   
  
"Then he'll be talking like Captain Kazoo," commented Yuushi boredly, not looking at the rest of us with his attention fixed on his lunch.  
  
Venom in my voice, I hissed, " _What did you just call me_?"   
  
But it was too late. Shishido was laughing so hard he snorted rice up his nose. Mukahi tried patting him on the back while he hacked and coughed, but Jirou continued to sleep away peacefully, blissfully unaware of what was going on around him. I envied him, though I had done quite enough sleeping and  _lying around uselessly_  for one lifetime in the past day and a half.  
  
And they were going to be no help at all. I would have to work on my own to determine what Tezuka might like.  
  
  
  
Tezuka called again, that night. "How's your cold?" He asked.  
  
"Better," I replied honestly, trying not to sniffle too obviously into the phone. Without thinking I asked, "How's your shoulder?"  
  
Silence fell between us and I could all too easily picture the look on his face. Three full years ago, he returned to the circuit when his shoulder healed completely.  
  
"Never mind."  
  
I was nearly certain that I was imagining he hid a chuckle in a short cough.  
  
But if anything could salvage the broken remains of my tact, it was asking him then about his interests. If I was sly about it, he might not even realize that I was trying to determine what to get him for Christmas by inquiring into his interests. “So… do you miss anything about Germany?” It was a safe enough topic – he might reveal something of great importance through speaking about his daily life there.  
  
After a thoughtful pause, Tezuka responded, “Fishing.” It was a very simple answer, and perhaps not what I had expected. Certainly, I had anticipated that he was bemoaning the temporary hiatus from his professional career while he finished up his studies and graduated with his class. He added after a moment, “I wish my grandfather could have gone fishing with me there. The countryside is beautiful.”  
  
And that was a topic about which I had much to say. So much, in fact, that the whole gift idea debacle went flying out the window and we spent the rest of the night talking about fishing.  
  
It was when I hung up the phone that I started kicking myself for it.  
  
  
  
Panic had finally settled in by Thursday. I went downstairs in the morning to discover that our staff had set up the Christmas tree in the grand ballroom - it stretched from floor to ceiling, at least sixteen or seventeen feet tall, and was adorned with various ribbons and baubles as well as dimly glowing white lights. The boughs of the tree hung low over presents of all different shapes, sizes and colors with the wide variety of paper that had been used to wrap them. All the mirrors in the room that lined every wall projected back the tree in their reflection. With the lights off, it was like looking down a street in a suburb where there was an identical tree on every corner. There were gifts for my friends under that tree - it had been quite easy to pick out Yuushi's anthology of Austin novels, so why was it so hard to come up with something for Tezuka?  
  
My eyes drifted over to the spring of mistletoe that had been hung from the chandelier near the center of the room and I gave it only a moment's regard before heading to the breakfast table.  
  
  
  
"I'll buy him a mountain and name it in his honor," I declared after much deliberation, ready to rip out my hair with frustration for lack of any other solution. The clock on the wall of the classroom said 12:30, it was still lunch hour and we still had the student council room to ourselves for which I was eternally thankful because I was not ready for anyone but Yuushi to hear of my dilemma. Frankly, I was not too thrilled about  _him_  being in on it, either, but there was nothing that could be done to satiate his curiosity other than to simply bend to his will and explain the whole situation. I hardly noticed that he was not wearing his glasses - they were harmlessly folded and resting in the pocket of his blazer.  
  
Yuushi feigned checking his watch thoughtfully before responding dryly as ever, "I'm sorry, the mountain surplus store closes for business at noon on Thursdays." I shot him a withering glare, but I knew he was right - that sort of proposition was immeasurably ridiculous even by my standards, and I was the reigning king of ridiculous when it suited my fancy. Yuushi's thoughtful expression did not change, however, and he said slowly, as though testing each word out before he spoke, "I think I may know what you could do for him." Unlike his words, there was no sign of hesitation in his smile. That was his, "I am a genius," smile that I hated almost as much as every other little quirk of his that I hated.  
  
"Ha!" I leaned back and crossed my arms, ignoring the jab of pain from my left shoulder. "And what makes you think that  _you_  could come up with something after a moment's thought when I've been agonizing over this for days?" Only after the words were spoken did I realize I probably should have kept my mouth shut about that last part, but the damage was already done. I fell behind my usual confident sneer and waited for him to come up with something that would blow my socks off, though I highly doubted he was going to say anything at all I would not have to immediately discount for being one of his romantic notions.  
  
The expression began to slip as Yuushi reached for his pocket and produced his glasses, once more settling them on the bridge of his nose. "Just for a moment, let's say I'm Tezuka."  
  
"I have quite an imagination, but you're asking me to suspend an awful lot of disbelief," I grumbled back. He responded with a convincing enough stare and folded his arms over his chest, but I could not help but think that it simply looked  _wrong_  when he did it. An amused chuckle bubbled out of me and I shook my head. "I can't do it. Your face..." ...Was suddenly much closer to mine that it had been when I had first begun to talk. Panic must have shown in my eyes because he did at least hesitate before touching our lips together softly. His lips were just a bit sticky and sweet from the apple juice, or whatever it was, that he had been drinking with his lunch.  
  
Gathering more strength than I was aware I had, I shoved him off with both hands, sending him stumbling back a couple of paces into the desk behind him. My cheeks were aflame with fury, but something was knotting in my stomach. It was not so difficult to imagine it was Tezuka, now. I could imagine the arch of his lips, his heavy lashes, the way his breathing would make his chest calmly rise and fall even though my breath would come short and shallow. The more I thought of him, the more it solidified in my mind. The more real the prospect of Tezuka doing this – kissing me without invitation – became, the more my cheeks burned and the tighter my insides knotted.  
  
"That was your first," Yuushi realized dimly, cutting through my anger like a knife and opening the door for embarrassment to come rushing in. I did feel a bit better about it all to see the honest, open surprise on his face that made his lips part invitingly. Only Yuushi could manage to look alluring even when he was caught off-guard. I felt like an ill-tempered tomato next to him.  
  
I gathered my things, tried to pull my composure back together, and stormed out of the room furiously. I nearly collided with Shishido in the hall, but ignored his shout after me to at least apologize for not looking where I was going.  
  
  
  
I forgot all about the gift Thursday night; my phone was turned off the moment I left campus, so I missed another call from Tezuka.   
  
  
  
Bathing did not help. I settled in my customary bubble bath to calm myself down, replacing my usual champagne with a glass of aged brandy my father kept away in a cabinet. There were twelve more bottles like it in the cellar, but they might also be the only twelve bottles of their type in the world. My senses dulled from the alcohol and the warm water relaxed every muscle in my body. I was no longer quite so worried I might just drown if I was not careful about immersing myself in warm water – if anything, the steam was helping to clear up my sinuses.   
  
My right hand rested over my navel under the water, the tips of my fingers twitching slightly over my skin. No thanks to Dr. Love, it was all too easy to conjure the image of my long-time rival lying on top of me, touching his lips to mine firmly, but not without the same gentle care he took to everything else in life. An active imagination was enough to give me his hands running over my ribs, warm and soft on my skin, while my own hand ventured lower, dipping below my hipbones.  
  
It took little convincing to get my body up to speed with my imagination, though not without paying the price of a few errant guttural moans that slipped past my lips. For how noisy I was when I was on my own, I wondered distantly if I would writhe and cry out at the hands of another. My hand moved slowly, deliberately, at first in long strokes, curving my grip by tilting my wrist as I moved back down toward my body. My toes curled against the porcelain basin in my effort to keep my legs from shaking, and the familiar sensation that was almost like an itch or a tingle just below the skin, impossible to satisfy, intensified in my stomach and my legs.   
  
For me, it was always an exercise in patience and self-control, of which I was not known to possess much; instant gratification was more my cup of tea. But this was like any other game - I had to focus, keep from listening to the two instincts that pulled me in starkly different directions. I kept my breathing as even as possible, tried not to hold my breath, and did not let myself give in to either instinct. The first was to not let myself lose control; to stop this now and just jump out of the tub where the cold air in contrast to the warm bath would help me clear my head. The other, the same one that so often overcame me while playing tennis against a truly worthwhile opponent, was to let myself go and dissolve into a simpering, trembling mess.  
  
I could not keep my hips from bucking forever; the rhythm of my hand picked up and the cries came in closer succession, wordless pleas to no one in particular to stop or not stop or whatever garbled nonsense that was going through my mind in that moment. Brief flashes of images poured through my brain - soft hair always carelessly hanging around his face and jutting off in every which direction, dark eyes watching me calmly from behind wire-frame glasses, a deep voice murmuring my name not in passion but as a greeting, disapproval left unvoiced but evident behind wireframe glasses.  
  
"...Tezuka..."  
  
I stopped dead, suddenly feeling more ill than anything else.  
  
  
  
It was Friday. Being at school on a holiday was awful, seeing Yuushi (who I realized then knew  _everything_ ) was evermore awful, and I was in such an awful state of awfulness that it's awfully uninteresting and not worth mention.  
  
But it was awful.  
  
  
  
I had no present, come Friday night. I had decided at some point between Kabaji thankfully bringing something for me to eat as I had forgotten my lunch in my haste in the morning, and my stomach doing an uncomfortable flip when Mukahi saw fit to call Yuushi over to the lunch table, that I should just wing it and tell him I'd booked tickets to Niagara Falls, or something equally ridiculous that Tezuka would enjoy and was guaranteed to be better than whatever he had planned for me. I still had time to create some sort of elaborate packaging to contain the present, even if it was just plane tickets. I never did listen to the voice mail he had left the night before and it was possible he had called to tell me that he was not going to make it, after all. If that were the case, I was off the hook.  
  
My deliberation was cut short by a familiar low voice. "Sorry I'm late." I turned my head to see Tezuka standing several paces past the doorway of the grand ballroom, much closer than he should have been able to come if I were paying any attention. Bemusement must have been well conveyed on my face, because he saw fit to at least explain himself. "I didn’t anticipate the time it would take to get to the front door.” He spoke stiffly and stayed rooted to the spot, casually dropping his hands into his pockets. As if it explained everything.  
  
He did not have the answers I wanted, however – just an upward glance and a small frown. He took one hand out of his pocket and pointed up to the chandelier above him.   
  
 _Mistletoe_ , I thought, just as he said, "Mistletoe."  
  
I stared in disbelief, at first, then got to my feet so I could stalk over to him as the pieces of the puzzle finally came together. "You - you and Yuushi...  _conspired_  against me?  _Tezuka_ \- Tezuka Kunimitsu -  _conspired_?" I was well aware that the tone of my voice was not quite as calm and cool as I might want to appear before my rival. But he was right before me, then, his expression even.  
  
To this day, I blame nerves. I did not know what I was doing, myself, taking up fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him back until I heard his back thud against one of the mirrors lining ballroom walls. Something like a snarl died on my lips as I ducked in to press our lips together demandingly. I took advantage of his confusion to slide my tongue between my lips - I had no idea what I was doing or what I was looking for, but he remained mostly still, too stunned to do otherwise.  
  
That did not last long. Tezuka dug a hand deep into my hair, tugging back forcefully to break the kiss. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror beside him, eyes wild and blonde hair now completely disheveled from being so violently pulled. In one smooth motion, he removed his glasses and slipped them into his pants pocket. Then he leaned forward, placing a lighter kiss against my lips. He refused to relinquish control of my hair and in turn, how I turned my head. How had the balance of power so quickly shifted? His other hand clamped down on my shirt low on my abdomen, holding me close to his body so he could use his knee to part my legs.   
  
I submitted entirely, allowing myself to be kissed, the rush of anger flowed out of me just as quickly as it had come. Nothing mattered but the sensation of Tezuka’s tongue gently rolling over my own; every caress of his body against mine was like another small fire igniting. My arms felt boneless and weak, but I lifted them to rest over the back of Tezuka’s neck so I could dig one hand deep into the dark hair at the back of his neck and draw small spiral patterns over the ridge of his spine with the other.  
  
Triumph filled me as the ministrations drew a thin shudder out of Tezuka; triumph that only lasted a moment as a similar shudder worked through my body when he shifted the leg that was positioned between mine.   
  
Our lips parted. Neither one of us was breathing steadily, now. Still choking and gasping for air, we brushed lips once. There was a pause while, again, we tried to get our breathing under control. Neither of us opened our eyes; our mouths sought one another again.  
  
There was nothing out-of-control about the way we were moving against each other. As it had been the night before, every motion was slow, deliberate, and practiced. Every touch was thought-through and controlled, but every brush was maddening. I was seeing stars behind my eyes as every part of my body cried out from a mix of pleasure and frustration. I felt like my heart was doing its best to break its way out of my ribcage, and my throat was becoming tight with the effort not to hold my breath and still maintain control. Something inside me was clawing at me, every part of me, from within the skin to be let out.  
  
My ears were ringing as though I was back on the medication. I registered someone making desperate, low moans, and I suspected it might have been me. With each punctuated sound came another roll of the hips, creating such maddening friction between our bodies that I once more was faced with a choice to either run away and cool down or see this through before I exploded from the effort to contain it.  
  
I was finally able to pry my mouth away from his, though my head was swimming - it was as though there was too much blood going to my head... or perhaps too little. Even Tezuka, who was so often composed, looked as though he was fighting a similar internal battle.   
  
We made the mistake of meeting eyes.   
  
Many knew me to be the showy captain of Hyoutei's tennis club - the boy that had everything and rather enjoyed flaunting it. It was a comfortable thing to be, something I could be without having to give anyone too much insight into the person that was below that surface layer. Tezuka had never bought into the act – he could see beyond that and for the most part just thought my showboating was amusing rather than taking any real annoyance. This was so much better than that understanding, though - I did not feel like I could hide anything from him, seeing my own honestly reflected in dark eyes. We both caught our breath and seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that it was a bit too much for both of us.  
  
His way of coping, for some reason, was to let go of my shirt and fumble for his glasses, placing them back on the bridge of his nose. I knew the moment had been broken – whatever weird trance we were in, it had been dispelled. I felt his lips brush against my forehead, strangely gentle, and my hands wrapped in his shirt went lax.  
  
“The real reason I came back to Japan,” he started to say, though his voice was husky.  
  
 _Oh_ , I responded in my head, though I couldn’t seem to make it into words. One side of my brain was having a difficult time not picturing Tezuka naked or thinking about all the things I could do to him if he were. The other side was trying to tell me to shut up and pay attention because this was important and I really ought to have figured it out by now with how smart I am, anyway. That side of me thought in run-on sentences.  
  
“…Was to resolve this,” Tezuka murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears.   
  
  
  
Yuushi and I sat together in the hospital room, a triumphant smile on my face despite the last lingering hints of a cold. Yuushi did not look quite as pleased; he was still not wearing his glasses since the doctor had requested they be removed so he could check Yuushi’s eyes before swabbing the back of his throat for strep. He looked haggard as though he had not slept for days and all the color had flushed from his face.   
  
Pathetic as he looked, I was not going to give him the satisfaction of details as to what had happened that night with Tezuka. That was a matter between Tezuka and me.  
  
"You're not much of a romantic," he grumbled, shooting a glare at me, though it was weak as I remembered my own being when I had been experiencing the worst of the symptoms. His voice was nasal and strained, as though... he was trying to speak through a kazoo.  
  
I was spared from having to further the conversation by Yuushi's sister coming into the room to check on her brother. She was every inch as beautiful as her younger brother, if not more so, and her face was twisted with the same amused annoyance I had seen on Yuushi's face so many times. She took inventory of the situation and smiled warmly at me. "You got him sick? Good job."  
  
Yuushi grumbled something foul under his breath.  
  
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I moved to the other side of the room before I answered. "It's me," I said quietly, trying not to interrupt the argument that had broken out between the Oshitari siblings beside me.  
  
"Atobe." It was Tezuka.  
  
"Tezuka," I replied in greeting, trying to sort through the millions of questions that were left in my mind from everything that had happened the night before.   
  
"How did you enjoy your Christmas present?"  
   
I closed my eyes, unable to fight a soft smile any longer, and replied wistfully, "You've bested me. I was going to offer you a trip to Niagara Falls."  
  
Once more I could swear I heard Tezuka chuckle, but it was probably my imagination. "I expected you to try name a mountain in my honor," he responded wryly.  
  
"A mountain on Mars," I corrected, feeling light-headed.  
  
"So it was better than Niagara Falls." There was nothing questioning about his tone, but I knew Tezuka was waiting for an answer.  
  
My eyes shifted to look outside, recalling the night before clearly. Perhaps he was not in my arms in that very moment, but the twisting in my stomach started anew, just the same. "Time will tell," I told my rival faintly.   
  
Now I was sure I could hear the smile in his voice. "Merry Christmas." A pause. “…Keigo.”  
  
I smiled faintly. "Happy Christmas."


End file.
